I am so pleased to share here that another poem of mine was published today over at Winedrunk Sidewalk: Shipwrecked in Trumpland — it’s my recent short poem entitled “Contagion is a Despot Poet.”
You can find it right here.
Thanks again, Editor John Grochalski, for allowing me to join the community over at Winedrunk Sidewalk!
I was talking to a writer friend over the phone last night about how we could encourage each other to return our respective works in progress.
Her: “If I could sketch out time on my schedule, I think I could work on it on a regular basis.”
Me: “If I could turn back time — if I could find a way — I’d take back those words that hurt you, and you’d stay.”
(I know it was a corny joke, but I still thought it was good enough to Cher.)
Staying at home can be disorienting because every day feels the same.
I try to keep myself grounded with music. But then Morrissey comes on and every day is like Sunday.
She’s a painter in oils in the land of the blind —
and a sculptor over the dead.
The deaf will demur to her poetry
while epics roar in her head.
Like Cassandra, who spun futures
so dolefully from frenzied lips,
Her words are as mad to insensate hearts
as sea-sunk towers, desert ships.
Would that I could assuage that hearth
where her discernment smolders —
my hands around the hard and the white
limestone of her shoulders.
(c) Eric Robert Nolan 2020
“Evening Mood,” William-Adolphe Bouguereau, 1882
Honestly. I try to refrain from linking to Youtube videos on my blog, but this was too good not to share. (I am linking here to the PoliticsJOE Youtube channel.)
I’m willing to bet R.E.M. would be proud.
I am going to drive drunk tonight.
I don’t personally know anyone who has been killed by a drunk driver. Neither have my friends. Therefore, drunk driving is demonstrably safe.
As for all those public health “experts” and their statistics, have you ever thought about what agenda they serve? Wake up! They just want to control us. If you fall for their scare tactics, you’re a sheep. But not me.
Those news articles about drunk driving deaths? I don’t read anything from the news media. It isn’t that I’m intellectually lazy, or prone to broadcasting uninformed opinions. I just don’t want to be brainwashed, and I’m smart enough to draw my own conclusions. I’m not ignorant; I’m elevated above the credulous by my refusal to read. I drove drunk the other night, for example, and nobody was killed. Explain THAT.
The police blotter? I don’t trust the police, either – always questioning people, charging them and making arrests. Here’s an eye opener for you – do you know where else the police did things like that? THE SOVIET UNION.
Besides, I’m protected by the Blood of Jesus. If God decides to take me, then it’s my time. If I should happen to cause someone else’s death, then it was their time too. (If they do not share my religion, and thus are not guaranteed entrance to a euphoric afterlife, then it’s their fault, not mine. And if God takes them, it will surely reflect His judgement against their character.)
Furthermore, I need to drive drunk in order to demonstrate my faith, and God’s consequent divine protection. This isn’t a garish and particularly dangerous form of religious virtue-signaling. It’s me providing a spiritual example.
I’m brave. I’m tough. I’M AN AMERICAN. My premeditated drunk driving in the face of an oppressive government should tell you that. So should my willingness to engage in high-risk behavior.
And so should my gun, right here. Impressive, huh? (You should have seen the faces on the unarmed civil servants when I marched through a public building with it yesterday. I take a lot of brave stands, you see, so I also protest social distancing requirements.)
If you want to hear more about my courageous protests, I’ve got lots to tell. You’ll notice that a lot of my stories carry a subtext suggesting that I am unusually bold, and especially macho, and that, more than others, I am an AMERICAN, god damn it.
But it will have to wait, because I need to lie down. Ever since the protest yesterday, I’ve developed a hell of a cold.
[COUGH!]
… if you are a doctor or nurse or first responder, thank you. The vast majority of us know that you are putting yourself in harm’s way either to prevent us from getting sick, or to heal us when we do. Your bravery in facing coronavirus is known to us — and admired.
I can only imagine that there are long nights, disheartening days, times of tedium and ever-present, understandable fears.
Yes, there are conspiracy theorists. We know that they impugn your integrity with beliefs that are rife with disorder and bereft of evidence. The sane among us give them no credence; you should pay them no attention. The majority of us know that we owe you gratitude and respect.
Be safe. Remember that your fellow Americans are thinking of you.
This commercial came up in a conversation today with a friend of mine. I’m honestly not sure why I remember it after 35 years. Part of it is the last guy interviewed in the 30-second ad, and his unusual sentence construction — it’s a linguistic idiosyncrasy I’ve occasionally heard in movies or on TV, but never in real life. It’s just gotta come from a regional dialect somewhere. (The man’s name was Linwood Workman, which unconsciously suggested to others throughout his life that he was a reliable man to hire, I’m sure.)
But I might remember this ad well just because it seemed so weird and campy to me at age 13, when it aired constantly. Ads aimed at my age group made products seem cool and exciting, or maybe just farcically zany. (Consider the Spuds MacKenzie ad campaign, for example.) Ads aimed at adults were strangely cornball stuff. What was the angle here? Were adults meant to trust these people because they were relatable or special? My town had only one professional fisherman (who, coincidentally, was also my science teacher, my part-time employer and a really cool guy. SHOUT OUT TO MR. TSCHIEMBER!) But were small-town New England fisherman especially trustworthy about which cold medicines should we buy? Why?
You could argue that this was a very effective ad, because I remember it after 35 years. You know what, though? I’ve never purchased Alka Seltzer Plus in my life. Maybe I’m just a cynic where fishermen are concerned.
The people who say coronavirus is a hoax are the same people who say we didn’t see graphite on the ground.
The Spring 2020 Issue is great read. I am currently enjoying the work of featured poet Francis W. Alexander.
If you can lay hands on a copy, I highly recommend K.S. Hardy’s short poem “Night.” It’s perfect.
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 